Finnigan's Wake: Dreams of Tír-na-nÓg
by The Cynic
Summary: Sequel to Finnigan's Wake. It takes place during the summer after fourth year. Voldemort's risen, and wants the odd weapon Seamus found in his attic. A simple trip to the local pub sends Seamus and his friends to Tír-na-nÓg, the Land of Youth, it's up t


Confrontations in my mind  
  
Got me running out of time  
—Weezer, "Don't Let Go"  
  
FINNIGAN'S WAKE: Dreams of Tír-na-nÓg  
  
I dream.  
  
My dreams are strange and varied, and have always been. In them I am sometimes myself, and sometimes I know that I am a different person altogether, though I suppose that is prime stuff of paradox. I rarely remember what has occurred, and I suppose given the contents of some night-terrors, that is for the best and well-true. Betimes, however, I wish that I could remember.... it seems as though I might be a-missing some important detail....  
  
I wake.  
  
-  
  
His room was situated on the fourth floor, which looked out upon the fields. Seamus sat up, feeling oddly calm and at peace with the world, pulled the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak, and stared out at the never-ending rows of growing-green things. They rippled in the wind, revealing a darker side as the breeze twirled the stems of the corn towards his face. Something about that struck Seamus as significant, but his thoughts were scattered as Dean stuck his head into the room, looking amused.  
  
"Hey, are you going to stare out the window all day? Breakfast's ready," he said, grinning a smile that highlighted white teeth against his dark face.  
  
"Did Máirín cook? 'Cos if she did I'm not coming," Seamus said.  
  
"Nope. Your Granmum made sausages and eggs."  
  
"Sounds good," Seamus said, with an exaggerated look of relief, "Tell them I'll be right down."  
  
Dean left, humming softly to himself. Seamus made a face – Dean was quite unabashed about singing, wherever, whenever. Though he wouldn't admit it, Seamus knew his friend had a very good voice. That didn't stop him from objecting to the constant music. ("You're never going to be a pop star, what's the point?" "Pop star? You think I want to be a /pop star/? Out, Finnigan! Get out of here before I have to hurt you.")  
  
Seamus threw the blanket back onto the bed, and rose. As he stood, the scars on his chest pulled painfully. They were new healed, but still tender and apt to ache when the rain came. Unconsciously, he ran a finger along the first of the scars, slightly raised and standing out in a rosy red, dark against the lighter color of his skin.  
  
He pulled a pair of khakis over his boxers and tugged a shirt at random from the closet. Sock-less feet were shoved quickly into sneakers that looked as though their better days were years in the past, and a hasty glance in a mirror on the wall proved that his hair was not messy enough to warrant combing. He glared at the polished piece of glass, visibly warning it not to comment on his rather scruffy appearance. If left to its own devices, it would discourse endlessly on the importance of fashion.  
  
Unfortunately, its idea of fashion was more appropriate to the Victorian period, and Seamus had gotten tired of telling it that no, for the last time, he did not have a top hat.  
  
"I'll forget about the hat—" the mirror pleaded as Seamus made his escape, "But will you at least consider a cravat?"  
  
"Not a chance!" he said cheerfully, and shut the door on the mirror's complaints. The stairs from the fourth to the third floors were circular and rather narrow, but he clumped down them without caution. When he had been younger, the times he'd accidentally tumbled down it. There remained as a memory a small scar beneath his lower lip, where his teeth had punctured through the skin upon impact. He took the last four steps at a jump, and landed lightly on his feet. The other sets of stairs to the first floor, where the kitchen was, were easier to navigate, and Seamus popped into the kitchen with a bright smile.  
  
"Hello, all you lovely morning people," he said, beaming as a group of assorted Finnigans scowled at him. All except for Síle and Reid, of course, who were under the table stealing shoes, to the dismay of their elder siblings.  
  
"Good morning to you, too, O Disgustingly Cheerful One," grunted Ciarán, though his sarcastic complaint was ruined somewhat after he twitched his foot and started to laugh. "S—Síle," he gasped, "Stop tickling my foot! And g—give my shoe back!" he demanded, affronted.  
  
"Síle! Reid! Out!" Sybilla said; the formidable matriarch's was stern as two sheepish, dirty faces emerged from beneath the lace-edged tablecloth. "Come here, and let me wash your faces." Their complaints were muffled by Sybilla's handiest and most deadly weapon, a wet dishtowel.  
  
"Aw, Granmum, you're scrubbing me face off—"  
  
"Ouch! That's my ear—"  
  
"Hush now, children, you'd not be forced to wash if you'd keep yourselves clean once in a while—"  
  
Ignoring the affectionate familial din, Seamus pulled out a chair next to Dean and sat in it, waiting expectantly. "Food?" he asked plaintively, holding out his plate to his elder sister.  
  
She looked highly offended at his effrontery, and sniffed elegantly to underscore her point. "Get it yourself, shrimp."  
  
Dean clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle snickers as he glanced at Seamus, who was currently scowling at his sister. He had never been a tall boy, and it was true that Máirín had maybe an inch or two on him, but there was no need to run it in. "If I'm a shrimp," Seamus said promptly, "Than you're a crab."  
  
"That's a point I've been trying to prove for years," Ciarán laughed, "But no one will believe me."  
  
Seamus half expected his oldest brother Caoilte to plead for a lack of sarcasm at the breakfast table, but he was already gone, off to work at his medical clinic in the wizarding portion of Galway. It accessed by surreptitiously tapping a railing of iron spikes that fenced off the back lot of their combination tavern/inn, Noonan's. It had been there as long as Sybilla could remember, and Seamus suspected that it was as old as the town itself.  
  
"So, Seamus," Máirín said slyly, "Are you going to see Sadb today?"  
  
"Máirín, don't tease your brother, now," Mairi said softly, causing Seamus to hide his face in his hands. "See what you've done, dear? Don't worry, ait, she'll not be doing that anymore."  
  
"Don't be so sure, mum darling."  
  
"Máirín, shut up," Ciarán said lazily, helping himself to more sausages.  
  
"Don't you talk to me like that," she said, sulking. "Dean? Make him stop!"  
  
Dean blushed.  
  
-  
  
They sat on the peeling armchairs in the Finnigan living room, meditatively "Right," Seamus said with an authoritative tone, "We can't Apparate, but if we want to get to the village, there's a fireplace where we can use the Floo powder. We can go to all the stores, and Noonan's—"  
  
"Seamus?" Mairi Finnigan glanced over her shoulder as she moved lightly through the room. Her steps, as always, barely seemed to touch the ground. She seemed perpetually on the verge of floating away, an ethereal presence forced to earth.  
  
"Yes, mum?"  
  
"You should probably hurry up if you want to meet Professor Lupin on time, today. He said he'd be in the village at noon, I think?"  
  
"Huh?" Dean asked, confused.  
  
"Mum, we never said anything about meeting Professor Lupin. He's not even a Professor anymore!"  
  
"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" Mairi's brow wrinkled somewhat, and her face abruptly became apologetic. "I did. I'm so sorry, boys, it completely slipped my mind. Seamus, he wanted to examine that spear you found in the attic.... Apparently, ancient artifacts are a hobby of his, and he said that since he's not working he'd have time to Apparate to see it. Do you mind?" she asked, suddenly worried.  
  
"Not at all, mum," Seamus sighed, and Dean grunted in annoyance.  
  
"Oh, good," Mairi said cheerfully, "You'll have to drag that thing along with you when you use the Floo powder, but I don't think that should be a problem, mm?"  
  
"I'll handle it," Seamus said dejectedly, and glanced at his watch. "Oh, crap, we're late already! Come on, Dean."  
  
"'Bye, Mrs. Finnigan," Dean said, and trooped glumly after his friend.  
  
-  
  
It was more difficult than he thought.  
  
Seamus first had to carry the spear down four flights of stairs, and by the time he reached the ground floor he was panting and bruised. While navigating that tricky spiral staircase, he had accidentally dropped the spear on his head, and could feel a bump the size of a walnut rising on his brow. After that, he was confronted with the problem of maneuvering the spear into the fireplace that roared with green magical flame. By turning it sideways and falling backwards into the hearth, Seamus managed, just barely, to yell out, "Noonan's!"  
  
As he slid through the strange here-nor-there that came with using Floo powder, he attempted frantically to position the weapon so that he didn't cut off his own head, or some other essential limb. Finally, he fell through the grate into Noonan's in a heap, landing on his shoulder with the spear dropping heavily on top of him. The patrons erupted into raucous laughter, especially when Dean, following, was unable to move in time and joined the pileup outside of the fireplace.  
  
"Professor Lupin," Seamus said, picking himself up painfully, "This had better be worth it."  
  
Lupin's wan face twitched as he attempted to hide a grin. "I'm sorry, Seamus, I hadn't thought what a trouble it'd be for you."  
  
"Apparently not," Seamus snapped, irritable because he had several bruises and an entire pub laughing at him. Then he realized that this sounded rather nasty, and was instantly apologetic. "Sorry. It's just – it's, well, my head hurts."  
  
Lupin frowned at him, and leaned closer to examine Seamus' eyes. "Looks like you've got a concussion," he said shrewdly, "Did you fall on this any time recently?"  
  
"Well," Seamus said slowly, "There could have been the time when I tried to drag the spear down from my room. Or maybe it was the time when I fell backwards into the fireplace, or maybe it was when this giant fell on me?"  
  
"You know," Lupin said, ignoring Seamus' justified diatribe, "You might have a valid point. Here, let me fix that." His odd amber-shaded eyes closed, and he muttered something under his breath. The wand traced a flicking motion in the air, and instantly, the throbbing pain in Seamus' head dimmed, and the world came back into focus. He felt cheerful, too, more like his normal self.  
  
"Thanks, Professor," he said, feeling the place where the bruise had been moments before. There was no swelling, but Seamus was willing to bet there'd be a large purple-blue mark there, instead. He sighed, and lifted the spear up – once it was up from the floor, he was able to balance it comfortably, almost lightly, in the palm of his right hand. "You wanted to look at this?"  
  
Professor Lupin – Seamus couldn't think of him anyway else, despite the fact that he was no longer working at Hogwarts – nodded his head and gestured the two boys towards an empty, appropriately long, table. "Exactly," he said, "I was in Ireland already on personal business, and your mother – I knew her in school – has kept in touch, she told me all about your – ah – unusual adventure with the unfortunate Mr. Allen."  
  
Seamus gulped, abruptly remembering the fiery corpse of the man – the Tuatha de Danaan? – who had once been his neighbor. It had been buried hastily in the forest, as their priest refused to inter it in the cemetery. Not that Seamus blamed him. "Yeah," he said, not sure what else would be appropriate to say. "You don't think there's anything, um, evil about the spear, though?" It would really be a shame to give it up.... Seamus had grown used to having the thing around.  
  
"We'd hope not," Dean said seriously, "I think Seamus' planning to marry it."  
  
Seamus shot his best friend a wounded look. "First Máirín, now you. Will I never get an easy time of it?"  
  
A polite cough from across the table drew two identical sheepish faces. "Ahem," Professor Lupin said, raising his eyebrows. "Not that I think there's anything 'evil' about your artifact, I'd just like to take a look at it.... If Allen – excuse me, Aillen – really did call you Fionn, there might be some very interesting ramifications."  
  
"I thought you were only interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dean said, interested.  
  
"I do have hobbies, Dean," Lupin said, with a tiny smile. It only served to make the lines on his otherwise young face more visible. "Magical archeology happens to be one of them." Glancing over to the side of the pub, Lupin saw something that made him smile again. "Dean, Seamus, you two can leave if you want – I think I see someone who's looking forward to speaking with you."  
  
Seamus, curious, glanced towards the door of Noonan's, and was quite pleased to find Sadb Murphy and her father entering the pub. Sadb was around Seamus' height (actually an inch taller, though he'd never, under pain of death, admit it) and strongly built, raven haired with greenish-blue eyes and a ready enough smile. She was rather shy, and could often be found in the corner reading a book, or simply offering a Mona Lisa smile in lieu of words. Seamus was somewhat surprised to find that, thrust through her belt along with her wand, was a Muggle knife in a sheath.  
  
"'Lo, Dean, Seamus," she said, waving to her father and heading over to where the two boys sat.  
  
"Go get something to eat," Lupin said mildly, and returned to examining the spear intently, poking it with his wand and murmuring arcane words under his breath.  
  
The three children went over to the bar, settling themselves onto seats. "Afternoon, Mr. Noonan," Seamus said, "We'd like lunch, I think?" He glanced at Dean and Sadb for confirmation, and received nods in reply. "Right then, I'd like fried chicken an' chips, and some bread if you please," Seamus said, thinking, "And if you've got ice cream, I'll have that when I'm done."  
  
Mr. Noonan looked amused, and said, in a voice of mock-accusation; "Your eyes are bigger than your belly."  
  
"Never!" Seamus said, and Sadb shook her head.  
  
He yelped as she poked him in the stomach. "He's lying, Mr. Noonan," the girl said, "If he'd really been eating all of it, there'd be some fat on his bones."  
  
Seamus looked mournfully at her as Dean grinned widely. "First Máirín, then Dean, and you, too? The world is out to get me."  
  
Eventually the food came, and talk was momentarily suspended as the three young people shoveled it down quickly. Dean was amused by the fact that Sadb ate as least as much as Seamus did, and guffawed outright when she sniffed and informed him that she was a growing girl, and she needed her nourishment as much as any bottomless-stomached boy. After this, Sadb broke into uncharacteristic snickers, hysterical laughter that sounded hollow and rather eerie.  
  
Seamus laughed, as well, and was somewhat disconcerted to find that his normal hearty chuckle had emerged as a rather drunken-sounding giggle. He peered curiously at his drink, though his eyes did not seem to want to focus on anything, and frowned. It was not alcohol, merely a Coke, which should not at all make him feel so light headed or sleepy, or so.... strange. He turned to his friends, and blinked, because Dean was swaying in his seat. "Guys—?" Seamus began, and abruptly, surrendered to the darkness, toppling forward off of the barstool.  
  
Various patrons jumped from their chairs as Dean and Sadb followed soon after, the three children lying in a crumpled heap on the ground.  
  
-  
  
Confusion.  
  
A multitude of colors barreled towards his head, and he attempted vainly to find some cool spot of dark to retreat to. Heat and light, fragments of a thousand thousand fires that flickered behind his eyes, assaulted his skin and raised bumps of gooseflesh upon it. There was no respite for now, and he remembered, in another lifetime, burning eyes in a darkened face, and the holocaust now reflecting upon him in the full force of its fury.  
  
And then, there, far away, was a spot of sable ice, coolness and escape that beckoned him slyly.  
  
He fell towards it, and knew nothing.  
  
-  
  
"My god! What happened?"  
  
"Are they dead? Are they dead?"  
  
"Just fell—"  
  
"Mairi's boy—"  
  
"The Murphy girl, and their friend?"  
  
"The food—?"  
  
"I don't know, Noonan's never—"  
  
"What are we going to do?"  
  
"Someone help them!"  
  
"Someone call a Mediwizard!"  
  
"Dumbledore."  
  
"They just slid off the chairs—" What seemed like a hundred voices rose in a panicked babble as people surged towards the bar. Most everyone had seen Seamus, Dean, and Sadb's fall from the chairs, and instantly, despite being wizards, there was panic.   
  
"Everybody step back!" Remus roared, attempting to be heard over the din of the crowd. There was a woman shrieking in panic, and a moment later, she fainted. "Someone get her out into the air," he yelled again, and sighed. No one seemed to be listening. After waiting for the pub-goers to quiet down, Remus realized that they probably would remain in a blind worry if left to their own devices. Lifting his wand and holding Seamus' spear in the other, he sent up a stream of red sparks, mentally thanking Dumbledore for that particular attention-gaining trick.  
  
"Calm down, please! Let me through, ma'am, I'm sorry, please – let me through." He elbowed his way through the crowd though, Remus thought wryly, the fact that he was carrying a six-foot length of metal and wood probably helped a great deal. He reached the bar, where Seamus, Dean, and Sadb were lying on the floor. A tension-filled silence had fallen, and Remus was again reminded that sometimes quiet spoke more loudly than words. Fifty pairs of eyes focused intently on the back of his neck, causing his hackles to rise.  
  
Down, boy.  
  
Remus knelt beside the bodies – beside the children – and rested his fingers for Dean's pulse. It was faint, as though coming from far away, muffled by time and space. A quick check showed that Seamus and Sadb's condition were very much the same. A diagnostic spell – though Remus was now Mediwizard – showed no natural cause that he knew of, and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach did not bode well for the still white crumpled figures on the floor.  
  
There were a few benefits to being a werewolf, and intuition was one of them. Unfortunately, his intuition was screaming 'foul play.' The hollow hush in the crowd was expectant. "It's – it's a spell, of some sort." They began to talk again. "Quiet, please!" Remus pleaded, and was rewarded with silence. "Mobilicorpus," he said, and Sadb rose somewhat jerkily, limbs hanging limp, "Mobilicorpus, mobilicorpus." Dean and Seamus followed, with Lupin bringing up the rear, holding tightly to the spear. "Noonan, might I borrow your back room?"  
  
"Certainly, Remus," Noonan said, face pale and drained of color. "Remus, I swear I had nothing to do with this. I swear it!"  
  
"Later, Noonan. You'll have to open the door for me," he said, and directed the three fallen children behind him, floating lightly through the now-open portal to the back room. Seamus' eyelids fluttered for a moment, and he mumbled something that sounded like, "Escape," before calming again. With a wave of his wand, the children were lined up on the hastily cleared table, where Noonan had thoughtfully put several cushions, snatched from the armchairs nearby.  
  
"Incendio," Remus said sharply, and whispered the incantation to communicate over long distances. Mairi Finnigan's head appeared in the flames, smiling with pleasure to see her old friend again. The bodies laid out on the table were out of her vision.  
  
"Remus!" she said, "What a pleasant surprise. You've never been one for visiting, have you?" Blue eyes narrowed slightly in an accusatory, though teasing, manner. "Playing the busy Professor to your advantage, I suppose."  
  
"I have been busy."  
  
Mairi, though she appeared vacuous at times, was no one's fool. "Remus?" she said, suddenly sharp, suspicious. "Remus, what is it? Is something wrong?"  
  
"Mairi—"  
  
Her face bled dry of color, and the next words were whispered. "It's Seamus, isn't it?"  
  
It was a long several seconds before he was able to answer. "I'm sorry."  
  
Her face, normally so open, had gone dark and closed. It was, Remus knew, as close to fury as she could get. "I'll Apparate there now – you'll see me in a minute. No, a second. Oh god, you know what I mean." And she was gone.  
  
Remus shut the door against the curious stares of the onlookers.  
  
-  
  
Like Alice through the rabbit hole, he dropped. There was a sense of others beside him, familiar souls that resonated in the lonely gloom. He reached out to them, so that they would not become separated. They fell together, and his heart lightened. Through the darkness, and out the other side.  
  
-  
  
There was the brief sensation of floating, and then he dropped like a stone to the ground. Seamus was stunned by the impact, and saw brightly colored dots flickering behind his eyes. "Urgh," he commented philosophically, and opened his eyes the barest fraction. Instantly, bright light poured into his vision, and he shut them again. It hurt. He hurt. Seamus would have, at that moment, liked nothing so much as to simply lie down forever.  
  
However, someone was shaking him, and speaking. "Seamus, please wake up. Please be okay." It was a girl's voice, and familiar.  
  
"Bugger off, Sadb," he said rudely, mainly because his arm hurt and she was tugging on it.  
  
"C'mon, Finnigan, get off your lazy arse. You're not dying; we didn't." That, of course, could only be Dean, with the mixture of sarcasm and affection that permeated their friendship.  
  
He sat up, and stifled a groan. "Where are we?" was the first thing that came into his head, and, "What happened?" was the second. The spear rested on his lap.  
  
"We don't know," Sadb said. He opened his eyes, rubbing them, and squinted at her. Her face was pale and frightened, and Dean's looked confused and rather absent. Seamus examined the area around them, and was surprised to find that, instead of a rather Victorian pub; they sat in the middle of a wide, brilliantly green meadow. It was dotted with wild flowers in every conceivable color, and there were even a couple of butterflies flittering from blossom to bloom.  
  
In all, a too-perfect picture of a beautiful summer's day. Seamus half expected a girl in a low cut, square-necked dress to come running across it with her arms extended.  
  
Luckily, no such vision presented itself.  
  
"Right," Sadb said, standing abruptly and brushing grass from the legs of her jeans, "We went to Noonan's. We ate. We drank – I think – I remember falling...." Her voice faltered uncertainly, "Though I don't know how that would cause us to be sent here."  
  
"This," Dean said, "Is decidedly odd."  
  
Seamus jabbed the butt of the spear into the ground and leaned on it while he regained his composure. Something about this place, with its perfect flowers and the blue mountains in the distance ahead, forests to one side, miles off, and the almost tangible sense of strangeness in the air. He had a nasty suspicion where they were, which crystallized into certainty when a small, electric blue pixie yelled shrilly at them before floating carelessly on its way.  
  
"I know where we are," Seamus whispered, "We're in Tír-na-nÓg."  
  
-  
  
"What'd you say, Finnigan?"  
  
"Tír-na-nÓg. Land of the little people, Oísin's folly, land of youth—" he was babbling now and he knew it. But the sheer unlikeliness of the situation caused more than a little consternation. He did not know exactly how this bit of information made itself available. It was as in one of his dreams, when certain things came into his mind and he knew them for truths, instinctively.  
  
"It can't be," Sadb said, ashen-faced. "There isn't a Tír-na-nÓg.... It's just a myth. And there are pixies in Cornwall, as well, so that doesn't mean anything."  
  
"Well, there's nothing like /that/ thing in any part of England," Dean said, pointing towards a hunched-over thing that was walking slowly across the meadow.  
  
Covered in auburn, messy fur, the thing was as ugly as.... Well, it was so ugly that Seamus was hard put to invent a suitably snappy simile, and eventually gave up. It had a long, crooked nose, and small beady eyes that squinted at them as it came closer. It worse not a stitch of clothing, but luckily the furry hair was thick enough to hide any unmentionable body parts. "Mornin', young masters, mistress," it croaked, "And would you be troubling a poor ould man for th' workin'?"  
  
Dean was edging away from the thing, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Don't worry, Dean," Sadb said, holding up her hand, "It's only a grogoch, and harmless at that."  
  
The grogoch appeared much incensed at this, and shook a spindly finger at the girl. "Don't be judging by appearances, you little chit, or I'll needs prove to you what a grogoch can be capable of."  
  
"Shoo," Sadb said, "Or I'll call a priest on you."  
  
The grogoch puffed itself up, indignant. "Threats! You hear the threats, boy? Well, I'll be leaving you now and no mistake! Unkindness to strangers, what the Land's coming to...." It attempted to stalk away, but given the structure of its legs, was forced to waddle. Seamus, struck by the comedy of the situation, hid snickers behind the back of his hand. Once the grogoch was out of sight among the stately waving grasses, he glanced at Sadb.  
  
"Was that wise, Sadb?"  
  
"Grogoch are, as a rule, nuisances," she said, "And as we haven't a priest anywhere near, I wouldn't want that one getting underfoot."  
  
"Still," Dean said, frowning, "It had a point. Remember the story? La Belle et la Bête. He was turned into a monster for disregarding an old hag?" He was teasing, Seamus thought.  
  
Sadb did not rise to the bait. "Oh, well," she said placidly, "I suppose I'll have to find a true love then, if it happens."  
  
"Guys?" Seamus said, interrupting.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"We're not going to find anything out by just waiting here, are we?"  
  
"Well...."  
  
"Not exactly...."  
  
"So it would make sense if we walked on," Seamus said.   
  
-  
  
It took them a while to decide where they'd be headed. Sadb wanted to trek towards the mountains, Dean wanted to go into the forest, and Seamus wished that bloody spear would weight about fifty pounds lighter. There was no way, he thought sadly, that he'd be able to haul it through the forest, or up a mountain. Of course, they couldn't stand in the middle of this stupid meadow forever, either. It was beginning to give him the creeps; it was simply too perfect.  
  
"Seamus?" Dean asked, startling him from his reverie.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Where d' you want to go? I suppose you're the tiebreaker."  
  
"Um...."  
  
"You were the one that wanted to move," Sadb pointed out logically.  
  
"Yeah, but I was just thinking.... How am I going to carry this thing?" he gestured with the spear, causing Dean to leap lightly out of the way, protesting.   
  
"Careful, Finnigan! You almost took my head off!"  
  
"No loss there – it's not like you use it, anyway."  
  
"Boys!" Sadb snapped. During the banter, she had been thinking, and the irritation on her face smoothed away to a rather smug satisfaction. "If you'd stop arguing, I'd tell you a solution."  
  
"Ah!" said Dean, "Not for nothing is she a Ravenclaw."  
  
"Thank you, Dean," she said. Sadb took out her wand, ten and a half inches of willow and veela hair, and waved her free hand at Seamus. "Right. Put the spear down on the grass, if you please."  
  
He complied, eyeing her suspiciously. He didn't like other people messing with the weapon, and, since finding it, had been needled countless times about his possessiveness. "Don't mess it up," he said suspiciously, causing Dean to snicker.  
  
Sadb gave him an indulgent look. "Quiet, please." She closed her eyes, concentrating on the spell. They opened again; bright turquoise spheres absent as she recalled some arcane wording. When it came, the incantation was so soft that Seamus missed it completely. The wand flicked first towards the spear, and then towards the pocket of his khakis. Not expecting that, Seamus forced himself not to jump backwards. There was a sudden flare of warmth from the cloth, and— he thought nothing happened, until Dean gave a cry of surprise.  
  
The spear had disappeared.  
  
"What did you /do/?" he demanded, quite ready to lose his temper.  
  
Sadb read his look, and grinned suddenly. "Oh, you think it's gone?"  
  
"Obviously it is!" Seamus snapped. Despite the fact that he'd had something of a crush on Sadb for several years, the recent circumstances, he felt, allowed him to lose his temper.  
  
Sadb, on the other hand, clearly felt differently. She simply smiled. "Well, it's there. I've shrunk it. When you put it in the pocket, it will be small enough to carry. If you need to use it, then you can take it out and it will grow back to its normal size again." She grinned even more widely at their looks of dumbfounded amazement, commenting mildly, "It wasn't /that/ difficult."  
  
"It just sounds complicated," Dean said defensively.  
  
"It was," Sadb said, "But not as complicated as it seems."  
  
"So now do you believe me, that we're in Tír-na-nÓg?"  
  
"Yes...."  
  
Seamus slipped the spear, now about the size of a pencil, into his pocket, carefully. He fished his fingers into it to make sure that there were no holes here, and, satisfied, looked up at them. Sadb and Dean were somewhat disconcerted to see the intensity in the cornflower-blue eyes. "I don't know why we're here, or how we got here," he said, mouth setting into a stubborn line, "But I'm going to find out. And when I discover who's responsible, they're going to be very sorry indeed."  
  
Sadb, of course, had to spoil Seamus' one dramatic moment. "But what if the reason we're here is a benign one?"  
  
Frustrated, Seamus waved his hands in the air. "I don't know! But it doesn't seem very benign to me, putting something in our food like that...."  
  
"Oh, fine. You can have your heroic revenge if you want it."  
  
"Look, let's just head towards the forest, okay?"  
  
"Fine, fine, whatever you say...." And they walked. 


End file.
